In the Middle
by MrsRen
Summary: As her twenty-seventh birthday comes and goes, Hermione finds herself seeing the Potions professor in a much different light. It would help if she had any idea how to accept her feelings for what they've been disguised as all along. [ONESHOT]


**Written for mcal's birthday, which is the 28th, but knowing me I will have uploaded this earlier. If you don't know her, you're missing out because I wouldn't enjoy this fandom nearly as much if I didn't have her. She's one of the best alpha/beta/cheerleader/friends to have around. Happy birthday, friend! We all love you so much. **

**Tags: Post-War, EWE, Co-Workers, Hogwarts Professors, Mutual Pining, Sexual Content, HEA. **

**Thank you to Frumpologist for alpha reading and editing while I had a nervous breakdown. **

* * *

The start of the year is always rocky, and it's at least partially her fault. But Hermione adamantly maintains that it's mostly _his _fault.

It goes like this:

Five years ago, Hogwarts had needed a new Potions professor. Hermione had been part of the discussions once Minerva had settled on a shortlist. Pomona had sat beside Hermione, politely nodding at each name.

At the top of the shortlist was Draco Malfoy. Unfortunately, he was overqualified. While arguing that the man would never agree to return to Hogwarts—not with all that had happened—Minerva pinned her with a pointed glare that made her feel two inches tall; Hermione learned that he had already applied for the position. Being the most promising candidate they had, combined with the fact that Hermione had only been brought in for an opinion that didn't hold enough weight, he was installed as the newest Potions professor.

He's frustratingly brilliant in a way that gets under her skin. They utterly despise one another—though they have to keep shrouded behind a professional rivalry for the students. He's riddled with snide little comments that keep her waiting for the next verbal jab.

So, she wasn't expecting anything that had _actually _happened.

* * *

_September 2007_

It starts in September of their fifth year working together.

"Miss Barby," Malfoy's sharp drawl is recognisable from around the corner. "Would you please explain why your essay is of a lower quality than your normal?"

Hermione pauses midstep, her robes coming to rest flat against the back of her thighs. The urge to pivot and leave the dungeons is overwhelming, but she'd promised Minerva and—Well, leaving would be proving the witch right.

But she and Malfoy don't need to truly get along, do they? They're amicable enough if you don't count the squabble in the corridor that a group of third years witnessed. _On the second week of the term, Hermione. You were being a nag! _It's undecided whether that's her voice, or Ron's reminding her of her tendency to nag.

Heaving a sigh, Hermione continues around the corner while holding a scroll in her hand. Her fingers are white at the knuckles, revealing her discomfort, and Malfoy's gaze immediately drops to it when she steps inside his classroom. "Pardon me, the Headmistress requested I deliver this to you. I apologise for the interruption."

She drops it on his desk, and that's it.

Until it isn't.

"G—Professor Granger, would you mind staying for a moment? Miss Barby, please take this and consider taking the time to redo it." There's the rustle of paper as she snatches it and all but sprints from the room, shouldering her bag in a frenzied movement.

Hermione doesn't wait for him to speak first. "What do you want?"

He rises from his desk, as if he wants the advantage of being over her, which is likely. "Do you have time to discuss Miss Barby?"

_What? _

Whatever she'd expected, it hadn't been that. Evidently, her face reveals that since he laughs. There are wrinkles at the corners of his mouth, and just under his eyes from laughing. It's odd since she wouldn't have pegged him as the sort to laugh frequently, but he hardly laughs when she's around.

He leans against his desk, a new one that he'd had installed, and folds his arms over his chest. "Her marks are dismal, but she's bright. I pulled her marks from the last two terms, and she's always been studious. I don't," Malfoy grimaces. "I'm doing something wrong."

She looks everywhere that isn't him. There's an insult at the tip of her tongue. She can taste it, and Hermione bites the inside of her cheek to refrain. "That is worrying. Her marks haven't suffered in my class. What sort of materials are you covering? Anything too advanced?"

He rolls his eyes. "It's the third week of the term. What do you think I'm having them do, brew Polyjuice?"

Swallowing a retort of how she'd done it at a young age, considering he doesn't really need to know _that_, Hermione ignores him. "I could speak with her after class tomorrow if you'd like? No offence, and I mean that, I don't think she's going to discuss anything with you."

His nostrils flare, and she _knows_ she's struck a nerve. "Why is that, Granger? Care to share?" Acid drips from his words.

She considers apologising since she hadn't meant it that way, not even close. It's been a long time since the war, since he was branded, and it's not fair to judge him for it. "I didn't mean it that way." Hermione murmurs. "Honestly, I didn't. What I meant to say is that I can see how it would be intimidating for a young girl to tell you about her problems."

The answer doesn't calm him a bit.

Hermione's had a bad habit of putting her foot in her mouth in awkward situations. "You're intimidating is all."

The corner of his mouth twitches. _Great, now he's laughing. _"Right then," he muses, barely concealing his laughter. "If you would speak to her, I would appreciate it." The words come from his mouth, but they're directed toward her, and it's...odd.

* * *

Miranda Barby's problem is so frustratingly simple that Hermione screams internally. _A boy. _Of course it's a boy, Hermione thinks sarcastically. The staff sees it throughout the year, in different faces, in different degrees, but this might be the worst Hermione's ever seen.

She learns from Malfoy that Potions is the girl's first class typically, so Hermione assumes it's that she's only staying up late. Locked in her dorm in Ravenclaw tower, with a light turned on, but it's not a book Barby is staring at.

"I have a crush on him," Miss Barby admits nervously, repeatedly glancing both ways across the DADA classroom. Her peers are packing up to leave, and no one is looking at her, but she doesn't shake the nerves. Her fingers are trembling around the muggle notebook in her hand. "Professor Malfoy."

Hermione's brain comes to a screeching halt. "Pardon?"

The young girl shifts her weight. "He's hot," Miss Barby says plainly.

_Is this some sort of cosmic joke? _Hermione clears her throat, choking on her own surprise. "That's a rather inappropriate thing to think about your professor," she says quietly, and the classroom empties. "Miss Barby, you're not deliberately doing poorly on your assignments, are you?"

A sheepish look flickers across her face, and her lips are dragged down by a frown. "It's incredibly hard. The questions are so easy, and—"

Hermione cuts her sudden vent short. "Miss Barby, your intentional attempt to do poorly is a direct reflection on Professor Malfoy's reputation as a professor. I must say, I'm disappointed in your actions."

Students from her next class start to enter the classroom, and Hermione knows she can't drag out the conversation any longer. Besides, with the way Barby is withering under her words, she doesn't think there's much left to say.

Hermione leans down, and speaks in a hushed tone. "I'm not going to discipline you for this. I'd have to cite the reason, and I don't want you to feel embarrassed. But I never want to hear of your marks slipping for any other reason than struggling from Professor Malfoy."

Barby's eyes fly open, and her lips part in horror. "He told you?"

"He was concerned about your marks. Professor Malfoy cares a great deal about his students." _Debatable, but it erases the terrified look from her face, _"so I expect you to go to him, and request to redo the assignments you can. He'll say yes."

The girl nods, her eyes more than a little watery. "I'm sorry."

As she leads her into the corridor, Hermione's guilt gnaws at her. Once upon a time, _she'd _had a crush on a professor. "It's quite alright, Miss Barby. Crushes are bound to happen, but might I suggest you stick with someone your age?"

* * *

The troublesome ginger haired Ravenclaw does exactly that, and wasted no time either. In the next week, Hermione passes Miss Barby with an approving smile as the girl's holding hands with Mr Blait, a Gryffindor in the same year.

Normally Hermione wouldn't care about the personal lives of students—though there are often betting pools among the staff when it came down to couples, and she tends to win—but this is a turn for the better.

Cradling a wrapped parcel in her arms, Hermione gives a slight nod and continued toward her classroom where she bumps into Malfoy. "Good morning," she greets. "I haven't had the time to tell you about—"

Rude as ever, he cuts her off while dragging his fingers through his hair. He's ditched his tendency to overuse gel, and unfortunately, she's noticed. "I'll forgive the oversight since her mark has doubled in my class. She came to me the day after and requested to redo all of her assignments, and then turned them in the day after."

Hermione doesn't mention that it had been her doing. "Right, well I'm glad to see she's improved. It was such a silly reason to do poorly on assignments."

He nods. "Did she share the reason with you?"

"It was all because of a boy," _man, _"but we've resolved it now. I don't think you have any other problems." Hermione shifts her weight, eager to get away from him. Perhaps he isn't the boy he'd been in his youth. She's not who she'd been either, but he still gets under her skin in a way she couldn't fathom. "Is that all?"

Malfoy looks as if he's about to brush past her without another word, but his eyes drop to the package in her arms. "What's that?"

"It's my birthday. Ron and Harry sent me the books I asked for." She says, expecting him to look down his nose at her while scoffing that of course, it was _books. _

Instead, his eyes widen a fraction. "You mean to say that you picked your gift?"

Her cheeks heat. She had done exactly that. Her two best friends always gravitate toward books, as if it were her only hobby in life, and after so many years of receiving the same gifts, Hermione just gives them a list. "I—yes." She stumbles over her words. "It's better than receiving _Hogwarts: A History_ a dozen times. No one needs that many copies!"

He chuckles. The sound is genuine, ringing in her ears, and it strikes her hard that he's not laughing _at_ her. "I should be going," he states, and students begin to fill the corridors, rushing past them. "Will they ever stop running?" Malfoy grumbles, and the corner of his mouth twitches.

She hides her smile behind her sleeve. "Oh, I doubt it."

They stand in an awkward silence that stretches over _one, two, three_ seconds. Just as she thinks she needs to be the first to move, he murmurs, "Happy Birthday, Professor Granger." Malfoy leaves her with that before disappearing from her vision as he rounds a corner.

Her mouth remains dry, due to her repeated swallows, as she hurries to her classroom. All of her students are already seated, and most are wearing matching grins. "Professor Granger, you have a secret admirer." The blonde in the front points toward the desk, and Hermione stops mid step.

It's odd.

Hermione hasn't received flowers before unless you counted Ron's apology flowers. While pretty, they weren't thoughtful in a way that she fully appreciated. Reaching out to the prettily bound bouquet of roses, she plucks the card from inside.

There's no name, but the note is written in fine penmanship, not a splash of ink anywhere it isn't meant to be.

_Happy Birthday. _

_When it came to you, I was in the middle before I knew I had begun. _

* * *

A week turns into two. Those weeks turn into a month, and by Halloween, Hermione still has no idea who sent her flowers for her birthday, and a note that she reads every night.

It's undoubtedly inspired by _Pride and Prejudice. _

But anyone could know it's her favourite when her copy is so often on her desk, or in her hands during meals. Unable to use a spell to pick up on a magical trace, Hermione's left to wonder. Halloween nears, and decorations float in the Great Hall. Despite having lived in the castle for six years as a student, and for six more as a professor, the awe never went away.

Students chat away as they consider plans for Halloween. It's lucky that it falls on a Saturday, and a Hogsmeade weekend. As students hurry toward their next classes, teeming with eagerness for the weekend, the conversations are all the same. _Butterbeer, snogging, costumes, the Shrieking Shack— _

And Hermione intends to enjoy the holiday as well. Whenever she and Neville patrol together, they ultimately stop into the Hogs Head once the most unruly students calm down, and leave them under the eyes of the Heads. She always insists on a butterbeer only to ultimately request firewhisky that left her head swirling.

She doesn't drink often. There's no point for it, Hermione feels, and long gone are her days of waking up without a hangover. Luckily for Ron and Harry, those days have never left them. _Bully for them. _

However, Neville comes down with a bug that has been circling the castle for a week, and Hermione's left to receive a memo while marking essays.

_Professor Granger, _

_Professor Longbottom will not be able to patrol Hogsmeade with you this weekend. However, two professors are still necessary, so Professor Malfoy will be joining you for the evening. _

_Minerva McGonagall_

Hermione fumes behind her desk, crinkling the parchment in her hands. Spending the mandatory hour with the pointy blond sounds terrible, and she bolts from her seat before she even considers where her feet were taking her.

She slams into a hard surface as she turns a corner, a hard something that is someone's _chest_. "Pardon me, I was just—"

"Coming to scream at me, I presume?" He drawls.

Hermione jumps away from him, smoothing the creases in her robes while staring at him. "I wouldn't scream at you." Her voice sounds haughty even to her.

Malfoy dangles a piece of parchment in front of her face that matches the one still clutched in her fist. A laugh tumbles from his mouth with ease, and his shoulders shake. "That's absolutely brilliant coming from you. You promise you won't?" His tone is teasing in a way that's never been directed toward her, and it gets under her skin in a way she can't ignore.

Hermione grits her teeth. "I think I've had enough of you mocking me to last a lifetime." She snaps.

The sentence evidently pushes him too far. He clenches his jaw, and exhales. Malfoy drags his fingers through his hair, leaving it messy, and the light reflects against his signet ring. "That wasn't what I meant by that…"

What had she been thinking? Blazing a path to the dungeons wasn't going to do anything, and arguing with him about events long behind them will only make the year harder. "Forget it. You and I get along poorly, and patrolling together seems like a horrendous idea to me."

He nods, but the motion is clipped..

"I realise Minerva didn't leave us the choice, but perhaps we could patrol separate sides of the village?"

His fingers, long and slender, pale as well, tap against the stone. "You really can't stand me, can you?" Malfoy whispers.

She's not meant to hear it, that much Hermione knows.

He straightens, smoothing his robes, and stares right over her head. "I'll be sure to stay out of your way this weekend and for the rest of the term."

As Malfoy leaves her, guilt swims in her stomach and she has to use the wall for support over several moments to collect herself.

* * *

While having a lie-in on the morning of Halloween, Hermione forces herself to admit some things.

One: She's hiding in her quarters because had she attended breakfast, Malfoy would be at her side. It would be tense, and awkward. It's cowardly.

Two: It's not that she can't stand him. _Not even close._

Rolling onto her side, Hermione bunches the blanket to her chest. If it wasn't for the troublesome Miss Barby, she probably would have never considered just how attractive Draco Malfoy truly was. She knew he was; it's a hard fact to miss.

She's submerged herself so far into her dislike for him over the past five years that she hasn't stopped to notice the key things.

Her temper flares when he's civil. Hermione suspects it's due to her own frustration that he's likeable, and also because he's not as terrible as she needs him to be. She's when he's near.

In spite of all those things, she embarrassingly realises that she has a bad habit of staring.

At dinner, he reads just the same as her. He wears glasses—which are so endearing, and where does _that_ thought leave her—and is constantly pushing them back to the bridge of his nose. He taps his fingers constantly, a nervous tick, and he has a bad habit of chewing his bottom lip until it's flushed pink, and swollen.

It does nothing to make him less attractive, even in only her memories.

Hermione buries her face in the pillow. It isn't hatred at all, and it's unfair to treat him in such a way. It's _infatuation_.

It would be easier if it was hatred.

It's not that she can't stand him.

It's the way he gets under her skin, constant, irritating, and never leaving her that she can't stand. Hermione didn't like the way he made her feel, and it needed to stop.

* * *

Hermione stays to her predetermined side of Hogsmeade as they had agreed. She barely catches sight of his hair by the time students fill the streets. She disciplines two couples snogging behind a building when clothing is close to becoming optional, and she sent them back into the public eye, though she's not sure that will deter them. There's a Ravenclaw girl arguing with her friend about a boy from what Hermione can tell, and she veers away from them.

There isn't anyone she can talk to about this. Ron would have kittens. He might have let go of most of his prejudices since working as an Auror requires one to be unbiased, but this is still Malfoy. There's a history here, wrought with terrible memories that she'd truly let go of, but he dredges everything up in a way that left her mind reeling.

Toward the end of the hour long patrol, Hermione makes her way toward the Hog's Head. Stepping inside, she looks for the only empty table, and finds that there was only one booth with an available seat.

Malfoy's sitting there, a stack of parchment sitting in front of him.

_You need to be civil. It's childish to treat him poorly due to a one-sided infatuation. _With that thought in mind, Hermione pays for two tumblers of firewhisky. Nearing his table, she curses under her breath that he's wearing glasses, _again. _ "Can I join you?" Hermione asks quietly.

He stares at her for a moment before blinking and motioning to the empty spot. "Are you planning to bond with me over firewhisky?"

Her lips flatten into a thin line. "Are you about to tell me that they don't have your favorite brand and year here?" Hermione snarls, her frustration seeping out before she sighs heavily.

"Well," he clicks his tongue. "If you really want to know—"

Hermione holds up a hand. "I swear if you finish that sentence, I will forego my apology and dump this over your head. Do you understand?"

He smirks, and reaches for the tumbler. His slender fingers wrap around the handle, and he takes a long drink. "Thank you for this. It's kind of you, even if you're a little bitchy around the edges."

Her laugh surprises her. "Alright, I deserve that. I'm sorry for snapping at you so often. You're just…"

He takes another drink, grey eyes staring back at her from over the rim of his glass. Clearing his throat, there's a thud as he sets his cup down. "Intimidating?" He supplies in a rasp.

_Not quite. _

"Not to me. Maybe to pre-pubescent girls, but I think I can handle you."

He arches an eyebrow. "Think so?"

It feels like playful banter, like they're skirting an entirely new line. It's uncharted territory, and Hermione holds onto her tumbler with both hands, thumbs swiping down the sides. "One of us is the Defence professor, and one is not."

"Right, you'll be too busy trying to disarm me, and I'll have already poisoned you." The corner of his mouth twitches. "Your move, Granger."

She snorts. "First of all, I wouldn't disarm you. There's no point when you would expect it coming. With you, offensive is best."

"Now I'm expecting you to do just that." He drawls. "I'll just read your moves before you can make them."

Hermione takes a greedy swallow of the firewhisky, letting it burn her throat. "You'd lose." She states. "But I'm sure you could brew potions in circles around me. Oh, wait," She grins. "I was always better than you at Potions."

Malfoy's laugh startles her, and she leans back into the leather backing of the booth. "Cute." His eyes rake up and down her, or that's what it seems like. "But I have a Potions Mastery." He murmurs.

It's completely clear then, why she's infatuated. Hermione grins, and stares down at her drink. "It's impressive." She says, and her voice sounds unsteady even to herself. "I heard that out of all the Potions Masters in England, you were the best."

Pink paints his cheeks, and it's quite cute, if she's honest.

He tips his tumbler to his mouth and offers a small smile. "Thank you, Granger."

There's something on the tip of her tongue. Perhaps it's an apology for the way she's treated him since he returned to Hogwarts, or some sort of confession, or maybe, she hedges, it's something completely different.

Uncharted.

_Terrifying. _

"Fuck off!" There's a crash from outside the Hog's Head that echoes through Hogsmeade.

Both of them are on their feet in an instant, and Malfoy's a beat behind her as she rushes outside.

Two male students are glaring at the other, wands drawn, and there's a vein protruding from one boy's throat in a way that can't be healthy. To the side, there's a sixth year witch with tear stained cheeks, and it takes a second to know it's an argument over a girl.

Malfoy brushes past her, his fingertips skimming her hip as he does. "Adams, Davies!" Gone is the soft voice he'd shared with her, and Hermione's heart sinks in her stomach.

She's in so much trouble.

* * *

She walks with Malfoy as they escort both boys back to the castle. He threatens both students with a silencing spell after they're forced to hear some unsavoury details about what a cupboard on their fourth floor is used for, and Hermione coughs.

Minerva eyes the two of them with a slight curve to her lips as they leave Adams, and Davies with her to receive their punishment for brawling.

"You're not half bad." The words escape her as they stand at the end of the corridor. They're meant to split there, him going toward the dungeons, and her toward her bedroom.

Malfoy doesn't move away from her. He snorts while sliding his palms into his trouser pockets. "Such high praise."

Her cheeks must be on fire.

"You're not bad either," he replies, his amusement gone from his voice. "Though… I have to ask, what brought this change on?"

Hermione swallows, and wraps her arms around her waist as a cold draft rolls past them.

He doesn't even lift his want to cast a warming charm, but suddenly she's warm from head to toe, the spell binding to her clothes. Answering her unspoken question, Malfoy murmurs, "You were cold."

"I—" Hermione wipes her palms on her jeans, and regrets it as his eyes follow the motion. "I realised I've been terrible to you is all, ever since you were hired. Before that, even."

He gives her an odd look, suddenly cold and calculating as the gears in his head begin to move. "You're the one that didn't agree with Minerva's choice to hire me, aren't you?" His eyes are harsh, a hardening grey, and she wants to lie.

But she's done enough of that lately.

Hermione lifts her head, and nods. "I was wrong, I realise that now."

The look on his face is unreadable. On her best day, reading Malfoy is still a struggle, but his emotions rarely show on his face. It's not the case now. The problem is that there are so many emotions she can't pick one apart from the other.

"Yes, you were," he says, and turns away from her. "It's no matter."

She jumps in front of him when he turns fully. "Wait! I was wrong, I know that. I wanted to apologise for my actions. We've never been outwardly hostile toward the other, but I haven't made it easy on you."

Malfoy glares at her, and her heart hammers in her chest. "How bold of you to assume that your actions have anything to do with my life here," he hisses, and a lantern flickers beside her head. "But I suppose it was bold of me to assume that you realised I was deserving of a second chance."

His words hit her hard, and she realises the severity of how badly she's mucked this up

He doesn't give her a chance to interject before he continues. "Minerva told me in confidence that there was one hold out, but I had always assumed it was another professor. I never thought of who it might be—it would have done me little good—but I wouldn't have believed it to be you." Disappointment clouds his features.

Malfoy turns away from her, and she rocks back on her heels.

_Fuck. _

* * *

The week comes and vanishes, shrivelling into nothing, and Hermione is left with her own thoughts while floating through the days. Her classes have the tendency to blur together, and she focuses on practical lessons to keep herself busy. Her students never complain about the chance to let a bit of frustration out either.

But that's not what duelling is. She has to reiterate that at the beginning of each lesson. Her students duel, and she grades them while walking through the classroom.

This gets her to the middle of November, and she only considers Malfoy at night.

They see each other every night at dinner, and bi-weekly in staff meetings. Conveniently, Malfoy is always already gone before she gets the chance to stop him, or he's with Neville, and this isn't a conversation she wants to have with an audience.

While marking essays over Wolfsbane, the door to her office flies open. Hermione jumps in her seat, her knee knocking against the underside of her desk, and the parchment goes in all directions. "You scared the shite out of me!" Without considering to glance up and see if it's an irate student she's talking to, the words escape her as an angry snarl.

"Sorry."

Two syllables make her insides turn to ice. All of her guilt flares up, coiling tightly in her stomach, and Hermione is certain that she's going to vomit. "Can I help you, Professor Malfoy?"

His robes are gone. He's wearing a pair of trousers that fit him in ways she shouldn't notice, and his sleeves are rolled to his elbows. As Malfoy grips the edge of her desk, and looms over her, the Dark Mark is absent from his forearm.

Her eyes dart to the unblemished skin before she can stop herself.

"It's a glamour," he tells her, his voice all anger, and it's uncertain if it's because she'd looked or for something else. "You're to meet me in the dungeons tonight."

She draws her lower lip in between her teeth. "Pardon?"

"Miss Fletcher and Mr Ames were caught sneaking into Professor Flitwick's office an hour ago. They were stealing answers for an upcoming quiz."

Her eyes widen, and her lips part in anger. "They _what_?" Hermione echoes, but she knows exactly what he's said.

"Teenagers," Malfoy growls.

"While this is unacceptable, I don't understand why I'm supposed to go to the dungeons tonight?"

There's a tick in his jaw. Whatever news he's about to give her is clearly nothing he's happy about. "Since they're our students, Minerva requested us to oversee their detention. I'll see you at eight o'clock, Professor Granger."

The door closes with a soft click, and she's left to contemplate whether she could attempt another apology before the night is over.

* * *

Hermione changes twice, which is ridiculous considering she's going to be wearing robes, but at the very least she'll feel that little bit of confidence. Whether her interest in Malfoy ever leads to anything, and she suspects it won't, he deserves an apology.

After the first month into the first term he'd taught at Hogwarts, Hermione had known she was wrong. To make snap judgements based on a childhood dislike, and for decisions made under duress while he was still a _child_ himself, it's the same treatment she could have easily received if the war hadn't ended.

It would have been much worse, she admits, given the aspect of mass genocide, but that's not the point.

Hermione smooths her pencil skirt down, staring at the blue blouse she'd picked before wrapping her robes around her. The trek to the dungeons isn't a long one, but she barely catches a staircase as it begins to swing around. Torches light the way, and her shadow stretches across the stone floor, and wall.

Malfoy is already seated behind his desk, and there's a chair pulled to the edge of it for her. Hermione takes her seat quietly, lifting her head to see both students already scrubbing cauldrons.

"They'll be scrubbing cauldrons for two hours," he murmurs from beside her. "If they happen to finish that, they'll be organising the Potions closet." Malfoy doesn't look up from marking essays, and her stomach twists.

_If he could just look at her_.

Hermione opens her book, and a scrap of parchment from inside falls into her lap. A small smile curves her lips as she reads the words. Setting it on the edge of the desk, her hand bumps his.

Malfoy notices the slip of parchment, his eyes widening slightly.

It goes unnoticed by Hermione as she begins the book all over again.

* * *

His foot knocks into hers multiple times, and at this point, Hermione's certain he's doing it on purpose even though she doesn't know why.

Ames and Fletcher aren't even close to being done with the cauldrons by the time detention is over; from the boy feigning an illness, and Malfoy subsequently threatening another night of detention.

Their students escape as soon as the minute strikes ten o'clock, and Hermione, well, she lingers. Standing across from Malfoy while he looks at her questioningly, she still has no idea what to say.

"You can leave now," he says quietly.

"Can I apologise to you?" Her voice cracks, and she waits for him to tell her to get out.

His hands are flat on his desk. "You don't have to apologise to me. You're entitled to an opinion.'

Hermione shakes her head. "Please just listen to what I have to say?"

He sighs.

Several seconds pass.

"Are you going to say something?"

She gives a weak smile. "I didn't imagine I was going to get this far. I'm still trying to find the words."

Malfoy roars with laughter. "Granger, you don't owe me an apology. We can go back to you loathing me, and pretend there was never a time where we were friendly."

The thought of it makes her stomach clench, and she thinks she's going to be sick. "I don't want to do that." She swallows hard. "That's the last thing I want to do, Draco." They're so much older now, she thinks, that it shouldn't feel like a large step to call him by his first name. But she's called him by his last for over a decade.

His eyes fly open, and it's evident that he thinks the same thing.

And it's ridiculous that she can call Minerva by her first name when she's her former professor, but not someone her own age. "I've treated you poorly, and there's no excuse for it. I prematurely judged you based on who we were as children. You're not the same person I disliked during the war, or even before it, but I've treated you as if you are."

His expression softens, and Draco steps around his desk. He towers over her, a full head taller than her and then some. "Granger—"

She shakes her head. "What sort of person am I if I discriminate against someone for past actions? I'm no better than—"

"_Hermione, stop._"

Her voice catches in her throat, whatever words she'd prepared dying on her tongue. "I'm so sorry. I regret it more than my words can convey."

He lays a hand on her shoulder, and he squeezes it. "You need to breathe, or you're going to hyperventilate," he whispers.

There's an inch between them, if that. Hermione listens, drawing several breaths before swallowing. "I didn't apologise because I think it will make the two of us friends, but we got along perfectly well in the Hog's Head. I just wondered if it was a possibility—"

Draco smiles. It's not a smug smirk like she expects. His hand drops from her shoulder, and his hip rests against his desk. "I think that's doable."

Her hands are clammy. "It's that easy?"

He chuckles. "Yes, but I should apologise for my own reaction. It was a bit of an overreaction." Draco murmurs, and his hand twitches toward her. "There were other professors who disagreed, but have since accepted my presence. I've earned their respect, but I thought I'd always had yours. I suppose that's an astronomical assumption given our history, but I was blindsided when I realised. That's all."

Hermione shifts her weight, and picks up her book, along with the note. "I was wrong about you. I think you're one of the best professors here." Her hand lingers on an essay he'd been marking, and she freezes.

_Where is the middle of your essay? _She can imagine him asking a student exactly that in a sarcastic drawl, but it's the penmanship that catches her eye. Hermione cracks her book open, pulling the slip of paper from it.

The handwriting is the same, she's certain of it. Even without a spell to compare, the word _middle _is exactly the same.

Air rushes from her lungs as Malfoy vanishes the essay in her hands. His cheeks are flushed, and Hermione _knows. _"What are you doing?" he asks, but his voice cracks on the final word.

Hermione doesn't know how to be anything but direct, even though the chance of where this leaves them is _terrifying. _"Did you give me flowers for my birthday?"

His chest rises and falls with each heavy breath. "Absolutely no—maybe," Draco admits softly, scratching the back of his neck.

Her heart is about to burst out of her chest. "There was no reason for you to be on that side of the castle that day," Hermione breathes. "Merlin, how did I not figure it out sooner? You were leaving my classroom, weren't you?"

"Yes."

"I've read this note every single night." Hermione says, baring herself. "It's the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me."

He gulps, and his throat visibly throbs. "That's a shame."

"But I don't understand. I thought you hated me." It sounds _ridiculous_. She's twenty-seven, and sounds like she's ten years younger. "Draco?"

He shakes his head. "I haven't hated you in years. You were annoying at times, but I have to admit it's usually because you're looking out for students."

Her heartbeat is loud in her ears.

"Granger, you don't have to let me down easily. It's fine. I never expected anything from you, and you were never meant to find out—"

Hermione fists her hands in his robes, tugging him toward her in a move that's anything but refined. His lips crash against hers, and he doesn't reciprocate at all at first.

But then his fingers are tangled in her hair while he sends everything flying off his desk. He sits her there, kissing her roughly while she holds onto him. "Not that I'm complaining," Draco rasps before her lips cover his once more. "But what is this?"

"It's called kissing." She smirks.

His laugh vibrates through her. "Oh, right, I had no idea."

She pushes his robes from his shoulder, a wide grin playing across her lips. "Maybe you need a practical lesson."

"Oh, fuck off." He growls.

Her robes are gone, vanished, and she doesn't think she'll be seeing that set ever again. "Come here," she whispers, cupping his face and wraps her legs around his waist. "There's no chance that anyone is going to walk in here, is there?"

Draco shrugs. "Filch has always been a nosy bastard." He dips his head once more, his lips skimming hers. "If I'd known this would go so well, I probably wouldn't have tortured myself quite as much."

His mouth is hot against her throat as he hands grip her hips, and he holds her in place. She's distracted by all of that, but she needs to _know_. "How long?" Hermione asks, but it's a whimper as he nibbles the soft skin where her shoulder meets her neck.

"Last year," he bites out, hands raising up her sides and his thumbs brush against her breasts. "I don't know when exactly, but you're sure to ask. There was just one day where I couldn't stop thinking about you."

The buttons of her blouse pop open, all the way to where it was tucked into her skirt.

He stops talking then, and his eyes darken.

"Lock the door," Hermione whispers. "You should probably cast a silencing charm as well."

He does both without a word, and waves his wand in the direction before the door before he's on her. Her blouse falls to the floor while she fumbles with his shirt.

Hermione traces the scar stretching across the widest part of his chest, dropping her head to press her lips to each inch that she can reach. She has the sudden thought that she hates the robes that have always been a part of their uniform, because she wants to see him like this always, even if a shirt still hides his broad chest.

"Fuck." His voice is rough as her bra follows, and her hands make quick words of his trousers. Draco falls to his knees, pressing kisses between her breasts while cupping each in his hands. "Gorgeous," he murmurs before his lips close around her nipple.

_Fast,_ they're moving too quickly even after their sudden revelations, but Hermione knows if stops in the name of propriety, she might never forgive him.

Hermione whines as his fingers slide against her through her thin knickers. "Stop."

He freezes.

She wants to hit herself. "No, I mean you can do that later. I want _you_."

Draco pushes her skirt up, bunching it around her hips. "How did I get so fucking lucky," he mutters under his breath, and she barely hears it. He rips her knickers, muttering that he'll buy her another pair if she's that upset about it.

Hermione digs her heels into the bottom of his back, urging him forward while she stretches up to kiss him. "You should probably enjoy this because I'm never shagging you on your desk again." She nips his earlobe.

He looks at her like it's a challenge.

She's not entirely against losing either.

He slides into her in one thrust, groaning when she drags her nails down his back.

She's caged against him, and whimpers leave her as he sets the pace. It's all whispered admissions, and her clinging to him while he tells her that she's so _perfect _under him and—

It hardly takes any time for her to fall apart under him when his fingers brush against her clit.

* * *

Hermione stays the night with him, and she jokes that she doesn't normally do this. He laughs before pressing her into his mattress, and dragging several more orgasms from her.

She's content to never leave his bed again, but the morning comes all too quickly.

Too quickly in fact because they wake up late.

Shaking him awake, his fingers dip between her legs where she's deliciously sore. "No, Draco, we're _late._"

He sits up abruptly, his hair messy from multiple tumbles throughout the night. On the other side of the wall, they can hear students hurrying into the dungeons. "Oh, my God, they're going to know." Hermione groans.

He kisses her forehead. "Transfigure one of my robes into one that's your size."

"If you hadn't vanished mine!"

"I didn't hear you complaining about what came after," he snarks. "After you do that, you can slip out under a Disillusionment charm."

It sounds terrible, but it's the only plan they have.

"Stop staring at my breasts and get dressed!" Hermione snaps.

Once dressed, she follows him while remaining disillusioned at his side. Luckily, the door is still open in his classroom, and she slips out with no one the wiser.

But the students absolutely notice a wicked love bite on his neck that even she hadn't seen.

* * *

The Hogwarts rumour mill is always working, always evolving, so she's not surprised when some of the brighter students have pieced it all together by the end of the day.

_Professor Malfoy and Professor Granger missed breakfast. _

_Professor Malfoy has a love bite the size of a small country on his neck! _(An exaggeration, Hermione swears. Even Malfoy's ego isn't as big as a small country.)

_Haven't you ever noticed the way he looks at her at dinner? _

_When I mentioned it during class, he told us that Professor Granger wasn't a witch to gossip about, but then he had this far off look in his eyes. _

_I asked if she's fit under her robes as a dare and he gave me a week's worth of detention. But, I won a galleon, so worth it. _

By the end of her last class of the day, Hermione's exhausted. Students are always curious, and it doesn't help that typically, professors don't date.

She joins dinner while running her fingers through her hair, and the pit of her stomach is rife with nerves.

Malfoy smirks at her. "Everyone knows."

Her nervousness vanishes as she sits beside him, and smiles. "I suppose it was inevitable, but I could do without them discussing lovebites I may or may not have left on your neck."

"Oh," he remarks while adjusting his glasses. "You definitely left them. I was there, you know."

Neville chokes on the other side of them.

"Absolutely not!" Professor Flitwick yells, and Hermione leans forward to see Minerva holding out her palm. "You shouldn't win the pot because you've been putting them together on purpose to better your chances!"

Minerva's grinning ear to ear. "It's not _my _fault that Professor Longbottom was sick last month. It's certainly not _my _fault that they were required to oversee detention. As the Head of their Houses—"

"That's hogwash, and you know it!"

Minerva summons the small key into her hands, grinning triumphantly. "I'm sure you're wondering what's going on."

That's putting it mildly.

"For five years, there's been a betting pool as to when the two of you would finally get together. We've been contributing to the fund with every month's wages, and I've won."

Hermione is gobsmacked while Draco's mouth falls open. "You bet on us?" Hermione struggles to get out.

Neville glares at them. "You couldn't have waited until Christmas?"

Draco laces his fingers through hers while resting their hands on the table. "While this has all been incredibly enlightening, would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend? No patrols this time."

She nods, and it feels a bit cliche when the Great Hall bursts into whoops and cheers.

But she doesn't mind.

* * *

**I hope this was enjoyable! If it was, please be sure to let me know in a comment. **_**And, **_**you should go read mcal on AO3 and leave her some love there. I promise you won't regret it. **


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